A Love Inspired Christmas Bundle. Линда Гуднайт

woman heard the motor and turned, shading her eyes with one hand. The people in the nearby town of Winding Stair had warned him that she generally greeted strangers with a shotgun at her side. Not to worry, though, they’d said. Lindsey was a sweetheart, a Christian woman who wouldn’t hurt a flea unless she had to. But she wasn’t fool enough to live alone without knowing how to fire a rifle.

      He saw no sign of a weapon, though it mattered little. A rifle wouldn’t protect her against the kind of danger he presented. Still, he’d rather Jade not be frightened by a gun. The dog would be bad enough.

      He glanced to where the child lay curled in the seat once again, long dark eyelashes sweeping her smooth cheeks. Guilt tugged at him. He’d been a lousy husband and now he was a lousy father.

      As he drew closer to the house, the woman tilted her head, watching. Her hair, gleaming gold in the sun, lifted on a breeze and blew back from her shoulders so that she reminded him of one of those shampoo commercials—though he doubted any Hollywood type ever looked this earthy or so at home in the country setting. The dog stood sentry at her side, ears erect, expression watchful.

      Bucking over some chug holes that needed filling, Jesse pulled the pickup to a stop next to the woman and rolled down the window.

      “Morning,” he offered.

      Resting one hand atop the shepherd’s head, Lindsey Mitchell didn’t approach the truck, but remained several feet away. Beneath the country-style clothes she looked slim and delicate, though he’d bet a rodeo entry fee she was stronger than her appearance suggested.

      Her expression, while friendly, remained wary. “Are you lost?”

      He blinked. Lost? Yes, he was lost. He’d been lost for as long as he could remember. Since the Christmas his mother had died and his step-daddy had decided he didn’t need a fourteen-year-old kid around anymore.

      “No, ma’am. Not if you’re Lindsey Mitchell.”

      A pair of amber-colored eyes in a gentle face registered surprise. “I am. And who are you?”

      “Jesse Slater.” He could see the name held no meaning for her, and for that he was grateful. Time enough to spring that little surprise on her. “Calvin Perrymore sent me out here. Said you were looking for someone to help out on your tree farm.”

      He’d hardly been able to believe his luck when he’d inquired about work at the local diner last night and an old farmer had mentioned Lindsey Mitchell. He hadn’t been lucky in a long time, but nothing would suit his plan better than to work on the very farm he’d come looking for. Never mind that Lindsey Mitchell raised Christmas trees and he abhorred any mention of the holiday. Work was work. Especially here on the land he intended to possess.

      “You know anything about Christmas-tree farming?”

      “I know about trees. And I know farming. Shouldn’t be too hard to put the two together.”

      Amusement lit her eyes and lifted the corners of her mouth. “Don’t forget the Christmas part.”

      As if he could ever forget the day that had changed the direction of his life—not once, but twice.

      Fortunately, he was spared a response when Jade raised up in the seat and leaned against his chest. She smelled of sleep and milk and cereal. “Where are we, Daddy?”

      The sight of the child brought Lindsey Mitchell closer to the truck.

      “You’re at the Christmas-tree farm.” She offered a smile that changed her whole face.

      Though she probably wasn’t much younger than his own thirty-two, in the early-morning light her skin glowed as fresh as a teenager’s. Lindsey Mitchell was not a beautiful woman in the Hollywood sense, but she had a clean, wholesome, uncomplicated quality that drew him.

      Something turned over inside his chest. Indigestion, he hoped. No woman’s face had stirred him since Erin’s death. Nothing stirred him much, to tell the truth, except the beautiful little girl whose body heat warmed his side just as her presence warmed the awful chill in his soul.

      “A Christmas-tree farm. For real?” Jade’s eyes widened in interest, but she looked to him for approval. “Is it okay if we’re here, Daddy?”

      The familiar twinge of guilt pinched him. Jade knew how her daddy felt about Christmas. “Sure, Butterbean. It’s okay.”

      In fact, he was anxious to be here, to find out about the farm and about how Lindsey Mitchell had come to possess it.

      “Can I get out and look?”

      Before he had the opportunity to remember just why Jade shouldn’t get out of the truck, Lindsey Mitchell answered for him. “Of course you can. That’s what this place is all about.”

      Jade scooted across the seat to the passenger-side door so fast Jesse had no time to think. She opened the door, jumped down and bounded around the pickup. Her scream ripped the morning peace like a five-alarm fire.

      With a sharp sense of responsibility and a healthy dose of anxiety, Jesse shot out of the truck and ran to her, yanking her shaking body up into his arms. “Hush, Jade. It’s okay. The dog won’t hurt you.”

      “Oh, my goodness.” Lindsey Mitchell was all sympathy and compassion. “I am so very sorry. I didn’t know Sushi would frighten her like that.”

      “It’s my fault. I’d forgotten about the dog. Jade is terrified of them.”

      “Sushi would never hurt anyone.”

      “We were told the same thing by the owner of the rottweiler that mauled her when she was four.” Jade’s sobs grew louder at the reminder.

      “How horrible. Was she badly hurt?”

      “Yes,” he said tersely, wanting to drop the subject while he calmed Jade. The child clung to his neck, sobbing and trembling enough to break his heart.

      “Why don’t you bring her inside. I’ll leave Sushi out here for now.”

      Grateful, Jesse followed the woman across the long front porch and into the farmhouse. Once inside the living room, she motioned with one hand.

      “Sit down. Please. Do you think a drink of water or maybe a cool cloth on her forehead would help?”

      “Yes to both.” He sank onto a large brown couch that had seen better days, but someone’s artistic hand had crocheted a blue-and-yellow afghan as a cover to brighten the faded upholstery. Jade plastered her face against his chest, her tears spotting his chambray shirt a dark blue.

      Lindsey returned almost immediately, placed the water glass on a wooden coffee table and, going down on one knee in front of the couch, took the liberty of smoothing the damp cloth over Jade’s tear-soaked face. The woman was impossibly near. The clean scent of her hair and skin blended with the sweaty heat of his daughter’s tears. He swallowed hard, forcing back the unwelcome rush of yearning for the world to be normal again. Life was not normal, would never be normal, and he could not be distracted by Lindsey Mitchell’s kind nature and sweet face.

      “Shh,” Lindsey whispered to Jade, her warm, smoky voice raising gooseflesh on his arms. “It’s okay, sugar. The dog is gone. You’re okay.”

      The sweet motherly actions set off another torrent of reactions inside Jesse. Resentment. Delight. Anger. Gratitude. And finally relief because his child began to settle down as her sobs dwindled to quivering hiccups.

      “There now.” Adding to Jesse’s relief, Lindsey handed him the cloth and stood, moving back a pace or two. She motioned toward the water glass. “Would you like a drink?”

      Jade, her cheek still pressed hard against Jesse’s chest, shook her head in refusal.

      “She’ll be all right now,” Jesse said, pushing a few stray strands of damp hair away from the child’s face. “Won’t you, Butterbean?”

      Like the trooper she was, Jade sat up, sniffed a